


just like a white-winged dove

by RonnieMinor



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Feels, Gen, M/M, Past Abuse, Photographs, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-17
Updated: 2012-08-17
Packaged: 2017-11-12 08:49:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/489016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RonnieMinor/pseuds/RonnieMinor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles stumbles across the pictures by mistake.</p>
            </blockquote>





	just like a white-winged dove

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this](http://marmolita.tumblr.com/post/29137007470/this-is-who-kate-argent-seduced-when-she-was-in) post on tumblr.
> 
> Title is taken from 'Edge of Seventeen', by Stevie Nicks
> 
> Set some time after S2, using canon timeline that it's still 2011.

Stiles stumbles across the pictures by mistake. He’s going through a bunch of old books of Derek’s, which apparently escaped the fire by dint of being in a safe. He thinks it’s kind of macabre how he’s handling things that were there on the night when Derek’s family burned to death, but on the other hand, the books have a _lot_ of information about werewolf packs, so macabre or not, they're a valuable resource. 

He puts down the heavy volume he’s been studying for the past hour or so with a groan, standing up and stretching until his spine pops and he feels more like a human being. Then he sits right back down again and starts looking through the trunk Derek had left him with, searching for something that looks like it’ll be about pack hierarchy or werewolf laws. He stops when his fingers hit paper, then lifts out several books until he gets to what he’s looking for. 

They’re photos. Not many, maybe twenty or thirty or so. There’s a couple large ones of what must be the Hale family/pack, sprawling all over each other and a couple of couches, laughing and happy. Stiles stares at them for long moments, his eyes falling on Derek’s mom and dad with a strange sadness. Derek looks a lot like his mom these days, but his eyes and his heavy eyebrows come entirely from his dad. It makes Stiles’ throat close up, because he can’t think of anything worse than having no parents – but he also can’t get over how unbearably sad it is that Derek’s parents aren't here to see him now, tall and strong and so controlled. Of course, Derek is far from perfect, but Stiles thinks they’d understand. He always remembers them as being kind. 

He carries on leafing through the photos, looking at pictures of Peter Hale before the fire, looking entirely carefree and happy as he hauls one of his nephews around on his shoulders. And Peter with his _wife_ , who Stiles had forgotten all about until then. He thinks her name was Mindy, but the scrawl on the back of the photo ( _Peter and Mandy, Santa Barbara, Summer ’02_ ) corrects him. There’s a picture of their wedding, two years before that. Peter looks younger and just as handsome, but so full of joy that Stiles feels an unexpected pang of sympathy for Derek’s uncle. He thinks maybe he’d have gone mad too, if he’d lost so very much. 

His breath hitches in his chest when he comes to the photo after that. It’s Derek, obviously, but a much younger Derek. The writing on the back says, _Derek, first day of freshman year, ’03_. That means he’s fourteen and he looks it, not looking at the camera, his lips drawn into a pout. His mouth looks almost too big for his face, as do his eyebrows – a man’s features, waiting for the boy to grow into them. His eyes are very blue, not like normal. He looks… he looks _sweet_. 

The next one looks more official, and it says, _Derek, sophomore school photo, ‘04_. That puts him at sixteen years old, and Stiles feels strange, looking at a version of Derek that’s the same age as him. The boy in the picture has smooth skin and a wide, white grin. There’s a hint of the man that Stiles knows now, but the jawline is too soft and the whole tone of the photo is too _happy_. The same applies to the next couple of photos, all dated 2004 and showing Derek at a basketball game; Derek in a white t-shirt, maybe on holiday; Derek shirtless, his basketball shirt in his hands and his hair shorter than it is now. The last one reads, _all grown up now!_ But Stiles looks at the boy there and thinks of the man he knows now, whose carved-by-Michelangelo torso would put younger Derek’s slighter frame to shame. 

Then a thought strikes him, and his blood runs cold. The Hale House burned down six years ago, in early spring of ‘05 . These photos taken in 2004… they’re of the boy who Kate Argent seduced. They’re photos of the sixteen year old who she lied to and took advantage of so that she could burn down his house and kill all but two of his family members. Stiles’ eyes flicker over the boy in the pictures, with his wide, happy smile and his careless happiness. He feels sick. 

Hastily, he shuffles the photos together and is putting them back in the trunk when Derek’s voice freezes him in place. 

‘What are you doing, Stiles?’ 

Stiles knows it’s pointless to lie, so he winces, puts the photos down and turns to face Derek. ‘I’m sorry’, he says. ‘I didn’t mean to pry, it’s just they were _there_ and I…’ 

‘Couldn’t stop yourself?’ Derek says drily. Stiles nods uncomfortably. Derek sighs. ‘Well I suppose I shouldn’t have expected anything different.’ He shakes his head slightly, looking tired. ‘Whatever. Have you found anything useful yet?’ 

Stiles frowns. ‘Not really, but, look, Derek, I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to.’ His mouth twists. ‘You look so happy’, he says after a moment. ‘I’m sorry that things got so fucked up for you.’ 

Derek stares at him for a long, long time, his face unreadable. Finally, he says, ‘Thank you.’ And his expression is as stoic as ever, but there’s just _something_ in his eyes that is so wounded and so hurt that Stiles will do anything to make it better. 

He doesn’t know what possesses him to breach the gap between them, walk into Derek’s space and press their lips together, his hands cradling Derek’s face like he’s something precious. It must be madness, and it must have infected Derek too, because after a moment he kisses back, his hands fitting themselves to Stiles’ shoulder blades. It’s chaste; close-mouthed and a little dry. For a moment or two though, it’s pretty perfect. 

Then Derek steps back, his eyes wide and horrified. Stiles doesn’t understand for a moment, but then it all adds up, because Stiles is sixteen and Derek is twenty-two, and _god_ , Kate can’t have been more than twenty-four and this is all kinds of fucked up. 

‘Shit’, he says. ‘ _Shit_.’ He scrunches his face up, running his hands over it. ‘Fuck.’ He looks at Derek, his eyes wide and pleading. ‘Fuck, I’m sorry. I didn’t think – I didn’t… _fuck_.’ He takes a breath and looks Derek straight in the eye. ‘Look, you’re not her. You’re not. You’re not taking advantage of me, you’re not using me. You wouldn’t hurt me.’ 

‘Stiles-’ Derek still looks shocked, like he’s done something that makes him sick to his stomach. Stiles cuts him off, determined to derail the train of self-loathing that Derek is clearly setting himself up to ride. 

‘No. _No_ , ok? You are _not_ going to go all moody and broody and ‘I’m such a monster’ about this, ok?’ Stiles shakes his head, chewing on his lips. ‘I did this. _Me_ , of my own choice and my own free will. It was a stupid, spur-of-the-moment thing because I wanted to make you feel better. If I’d thought it through for two minutes, I’d have realised what a _horrible_ idea it was, but like I said earlier, I don’t think much.’ He sighs. ‘Look, the point is you don’t get to beat yourself up on this. It’s on me.’ 

‘But I kissed you back’, Derek says, looking hopeless. Stile shrugs. 

‘So? I wanted you to.’ 

There’s a beat of silence, then Derek grits out, ‘What if I said I wanted to kiss you again?’ His jaw is hard, but his eyes are desperate and Stiles feels an ache in his chest that doesn’t fade. 

Slowly, he steps into Derek’s space again, treating the older boy like a wild animal, because Derek really does look like he’ll spook at sudden movements. Gently, Stiles rests his hands on Derek’s shoulders, and rests their foreheads together. He shuts his eyes and breathes deeply. 

‘I think’, he says slowly. ‘I think I’d have to say that although I’d like that – I’d like it a _lot_ – it wouldn’t be a good idea. I know you’re not anything like Kate Argent, and I trust you not to take advantage… but I don’t think you trust yourself.’ He exhales, long and slow. ‘So I don’t think we should do this. Not now anyway.’ 

Derek’s slow sigh is just as long. ‘Ok. Ok.’ 

‘Ok’, Stiles says, and allows himself a little smile. ‘But for the record, I turn seventeen in six months. If you feel like re-evaluating then, just let me know.’ 

Derek’s laugh is a huff of breath, warm against his face. ‘I’ll bear that in mind’, Derek says, his tone surprisingly tender. 

And Stiles thinks that maybe, just maybe, there’s hope for them both after all.


End file.
